Sweet Sacrifice
by Nappy
Summary: Albion has seen no hero more horrifying than Butcher. He murders and steals; he is said to have no heart. In truth, he is lonely. It seems none but Elizabeth Kingsley can see his emptiness, while she is the one who fears him most. Fable II, Hero x OC.
1. Chapter 1

Fable II is my favorite game, I've been playing it for two years now, it's the only game I'll play on the xbox, and this is my first fanfiction about it. I find that strange. Anyway, I'm one of those players who had ten thousand different profiles. On one of my evil ones, no matter how enjoyable it is to break windows, kill random citizens, and sacrifice people to the shadows, I can't help but be sad when people run away from me with terrified shrieks. In my earliest evil profile, there was a cute barmaid character who I wanted to take as a wife, but she kept running away from me. What a pity. I shot her in the end. Anyway, it gave me this idea nearly a year later, so this little baby came to be. I normally don't make characters like Elizabeth- the weak, timid type- but I couldn't seem to make any other character for poor Butcher.

Anyway, please enjoy! Please keep in mind that I have not 'beta'd this... All the mistakes are my own. If you spot any, please tell me. I know the chapters are short. I have a length issue.

Also, I do not own Fable II. If I did, I wouldn't be writing this, I would be off playing Fable III, because I would have early access to it, as its creator. But I'm not. It's rather sad, really, but there it is.

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"ELIZABETH!" A hoarse voice shouted from downstairs, nearly drowned out by the screams and cries of children. Mother Abigail Kingsley rushed about the small first floor of the house, leaving messes and trails of insults in her wake. "Where is'at damned girl…?" She grumbled and planted her hands on her hips as the door opened to an obviously drunk Mark, the father of the house.

"'ow nice'a you to come 'ome, _dear_," Mrs. Kingsley sneered, giving the shaky man a harsh glare. He waved a careless hand at her, sitting at the worn kitchen table.

"Sod off, y'ol' hag," He growled, his words slurred even past his cockney accent, "N'bring me some rum."

"Out'a rum," She replied, turning her back on him to busy herself with making breakfast for their several young ones.

"What'dya mean we're out'a rum?" Mr. Kingsley shouted, standing up.

"We're almost out'a money for food and yer worried about yer damn rum?"

Elizabeth tried to ignore the screaming, but it was impossible. She doubted their neighbors could ignore it. She groaned as her chocolate brown eyes opened, seeing three year old Ella standing in the doorway, half of her fist shoved in her mouth. Elizabeth blinked and stared at her sister, waiting to wake up. She rose and yawned, stretching. She slouched again and looked into her unmoving sister's eyes lazily, pouting slightly.

"What?" Elizabeth asked drowsily.

"Jack hurt Polly," Ella whined in her childish drawl, holding out the half-beheaded rag doll in her idle hand. The older sister sighed and took the doll, setting it on her bedside stand.

"I'll fix it after work, all right?" She reasoned softly, patting Ella's dark brown head. The girl pouted but nodded, plopping out of her room. Elizabeth sighed and closed her door softly, wishing to be silent. Her family was never silent, so she thought that somehow, if she was as quiet as possible, she would be apologizing to the world for having to put up with the Kingsley's.

"ELIZABETH!"

Elizabeth jumped at the sudden scream, nearly tearing her bodice as she quickly got dressed. She rushed out of her room, still running a ratty comb through her dark brown hair, loosely braiding it and tucking it into her bonnet. All the while, her parents were jeering at her, telling her that she would be late, that she did not bring enough income in, that it was her fault the economy was so bad. No, it was not Elizabeth's fault, but it was someone's.

Butcher.

The name brought shivers down Elizabeth's spine. He was a common complaint in her home. Whenever it was not her fault, it was his. She heard her parents tell wonderful stories about him around her teen years, back when life was quiet and the household only had three children; her older brother, her younger sister, and her. Back when her father did not drink every night and her mother's voice was as soft as a lullaby. Elizabeth would love to hear stories of how Butcher, though he was known at the time as Sparrow, killed the bandit king Thag, leaving the road to Bowerstone from Bower Lake safe. She marveled at the thoughts of this popular hero defeating the Crucible and the Spire, then killing Lucien for good. Although, along the way, Sparrow's grief from the death of his sister turned to rage and his pity froze to hate. He helped the Temple of Shadows murder all of Oakfield, a peaceful little farm town. He stole constantly from Bowerstone and anywhere else, but no one had the guts to report him to the guards. He had dark, rough skin that seemed cracked with glowing blue lines, his eyes tainted green with greed. There was no doubt Butcher was handsome—no one could deny that,—but no one stayed around long enough to notice. When his dark boot stepped into town, anyone with sense quickly hid.

A shout to her woke Elizabeth. She jumped, noticing she had been staring in a dirty mirror, absently petting her braid as she let her mind wander. She lowered her head from her mother's screaming until she was out the door, not even its solid oak shielding her completely from disapproving words. She sighed and curled her cloak around her. Winter was quickly chasing upon the humble city of Bowerstone. Snow had not yet arrived, but the skies were threatening.

Elizabeth glanced around the strangely silent streets. She always left early to help with the morning chores to be done, so it was usually quiet, but the sound of ships being unloaded at the nearby docks and the squeaking sewage rats could usually be heard. Now there was nothing. The surroundings worried her, but she kept close to the side of the road and huddled under her cloak, walking on. As she reached the opening of the town square, she broke into a near run to reach her work place; the Cow and Corset. She quickly darted inside and closed the door behind her, trying to calm her irrational heart.

"You're right to be afraid, my dear," Her employer said quietly, appearing to be busy behind the counter. Mr. Balding peered over the round bifocals that sat on his potato nose, squinting at her. He was not a fat man, but nor was he skinny. He was not tall, nor short. He was plain. A clean cream vest clung tightly around his tan shirt, rounding his double chin. He was lacking substance atop his head, his name proving his condition.

"And w-why is that, s-sir?" She replied politely, lowering the hood of her cape and untying it to set behind the counter.

"I heard Butcher's coming around Bowerstone again," Mr. Balding lowered his head, hardly muttering the words.

Ice ran through Elizabeth's veins, but she persisted to shakily unload the new shipment of ale. "I-Is that s-so?"

Mr. Balding glanced up from his accounting to stare at her, the side of his lips tucking back into his cheek. He set his hand on his stout waist, clucking his tongue at her. "Now, Elizabeth, I know everyone is afraid of Butcher, but I know you're absolutely terrified. Last time you knew he was coming 'round here, you feigned an illness." He round belly shook with his deep chuckles, smiling amusedly at her.

Elizabeth pouted and ducked into her work, blushing madly. "D-Did not-t." She bit her tongue, growling to herself. This was the curse of working at such an open shop as a tavern—she was forced to work even if a murderer waltzed in. She would have to serve him. The thought made her skin crawl. But, alas, no other shop would hire her. She could not help any of the stands littering the town square and bridge, for she could not help her stutter. She was too physically weak to work at the blacksmith's. Butcher had raised the prices and taxes too high at the tailor shops, not allowing them to hire more help. Besides, her stitches were slow and crooked. She was clumsy, so she could not clean for the upper class homes. The only thing she could do was work as a silent barmaid at the local respectable tavern.

The owner of the tavern was the father-in-law of Elizabeth's older brother, Will, so, by family blood, Mr. Balding felt it was his duty to hire Will's simple little sister with a stutter and obvious social awkwardness. To begin with, Elizabeth stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to the other girls. The other barmaids were all smiles and cheer, happily pushing their large chests into other peoples' business to get the inside scoop and perhaps find a gentleman to buy them a golden trinket. They were smooth and they were confident—nothing like Elizabeth. She was awkward and as timid as a mouse, her voice stuttering too much at first to ask for someone's order. She simply needed to deliver the ale and rush back to the counter. The large, overwhelming atmosphere of the rambunctious tavern terrified the fifteen year old Elizabeth, but she eventually grew used to it over her many years of work and even started to enjoy it. Some of the girls were less obnoxious and good sources of the happenings in town, always happy to gossip about the truth and the lies. Mr. Balding was nothing but hospitable and the perfect grandfather-like figure, as long as one does her work. Despite Elizabeth's obvious difficulty with people, no one could doubt that she was a hard-worker and never complained, no matter how dirty the job. The only thing she would grouse about, albeit silently, was about being anywhere near Butcher. Her life was nothing to boast about, but she had no intentions on being murdered, and the charcoal-skinned man petrified her.


	2. Chapter 2

Second chapter. Here it is. I know Clara is difficult to understand. She has a cockney accent and I wanted to show that. Think of it as amateur Mark Twain.

Disclaimer. You know it.

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Before long, the Cow and Corset had sprung into full life, quickly filling up with the mid-day slums of town: the men who spent every gold piece on booze, but never on a respectable life. They were not the most favorable customers, but they always had gold and were always thirsty, so the tavern sucked up their service gladly. The place was filled with laughter and slurred voices with the news of the day, the lighter roar of the gambling man rambling underneath. Even in the near winter chill, the large room quickly heated itself, forcing the windows to open to allow air circulation. The bell of the town crier rang faintly inside, along with the stall's calls, the blacksmith's hammers, the squeaky voices of lady gossip, and the normal bustle of Bowerstone streets. Despite the slight grittiness of the town, Elizabeth loved it, beggars and all.

All was well and cheerful until the oak double doors slammed open, a freezing wind rushing in and curling around each customer. Elizabeth's heart raced and her legs stiffened, hoping her position by the cupboards behind the bar served as a functioning hiding place from the new customer.

Butcher.

The gambling master, whom had a date marked with death anyway, shrugged and looked back down to his game, calling loudly to his clients to place their bets. Butcher large black dog, Kane, glanced around the place, standing proudly at his master's side. The large hero allowed the heavy doors to slip from his fingers and the sound of his boots colliding with the worn wooden floor rang through the populated room as he made his way into the farther section of the tavern, sitting in the corner where he could observe all. How unnerving. Slowly, the hubbub returned to the place, though many men still sober enough to have common sense started to leave.

"Great," Mr. Balding grumbled as soon as the roar continued, using his ratty dishtowel to clean a ceramic pint, "Soon as that man gets here, business dies." He sighed and shook his head, filling the pint. He glanced up and nodded, his eye obviously being caught by the man in the corner.

"Be a dear, Elizabeth, and send this one down his way," He said, shoving the large pint into Elizabeth's arms. She squeaked, her doe eyes widening. She glanced looked slowly in the hero's direction to see his attention out the window, seemingly annoyed. Kane lay between his leg and the wall, resting his strong head on his paws. His blood crimson eyes glared out at the masses, examining each man in the joint.

"P-Please, s-sir," She whispered, leaning down closer to the stout man.

"I know, love, but we're short on ladies today," Mr. Balding gave her a sympathetic smile before he returned to his work. "Now, get a move on. Don't want to keep _him_ waiting."

He had a point. Elizabeth urged her legs to move forward, slowly weaving through the overstocked tables. Sooner than she would have liked, her boots hit the stairs that started the farther end of the tavern, forcing her to climb each agonizing step. Each step shortened the distance between the frightened girl and the heartless murderer of Albion until she stood before his table, heart racing. Butcher's gaze remained out the window.

Elizabeth slowly lowered her stiff arm to quietly set the pint on the table, snatching her arm back as if Butcher was a testy snake. "Th-There you a-are, s-sir…" She whispered and curtsied slightly, a cold sweat trickling down her back as he looked up. His shocking green eyes rolled up her body to her face, head tilting slightly. The jade was a strange contrast from his gray skin. Midnight black strands of hair fell in his intense glare. Now that she was closer, it seemed the cracks she had assumed as his skin falling off were merely lighter brown scars that littered his face, neck, arms, and chest. For a brief moment, Elizabeth forgot herself and wondered how he got such marks. She had seen him fight—it looked as though he never stopped swinging his sword to let another soul get a cut in. She had seen him clear twenty guards without so much as a scratch.

A deep throat clearing yanked her out of her examination. Elizabeth jumped back slightly, wringing her hands. The man nodded solemnly and slowly lowered his gaze to look into his ale, omitting an aura of wishful aloneness. Kane huffed, exhaling a low growl. Elizabeth quickly spun around and darted off again, not looking back until her hands were safely gripping the bar counter. She must have made a melodramatic scene of it, for Mr. Balding and one of the girls, Clara, were chuckling at her.

"W-What?" She screeched, pouting. Mr. Balding shook his head and returned to filling pints.

"Yer face, is what," Clara giggled in her cockney voice, leaning on the counter towards the younger girl, "'S pale as a sheet, can tell 'ya that, 'n Mister B'tcher was checkin' 'ya out, 's well! Watch yerself, lovie. 'E's traitorous, 'n so is 'at dog! Bloody thing creeps me out, always starin' at ever'one." The seasoned barmaid shivered and grabbed several pints, setting out to deliver them.

Elizabeth stored Clara's words into her head and carried on her duties, wearing a puzzled expression. Checking her out? What did that mean? Examine her, as he was doing him? The girl glanced briefly at her reflection in a wall mirror, twisting her lips. It would be a lie to say she was a stunning girl, but she wasn't atrocious, either. Her face was a slender, but not gaunt heart shape with a short nose and thin lips. Her skin was paler than most, for she took after her mother's gene pool, but her cheeks always had a rosy blush dusting them. Her almond eyes were on the large side, but at least had the pretty color of chocolate instead of mud like her mother's. Her hair was a matching color, but a richer, younger color than her mother's. It was long and neither thick nor thin, usually in a braid that rested over her right shoulder. Her long bangs and loose hairs were tucked into her bonnet, just like any respectable girl, but the shorter bangs framed her cheeks and forehead. As for her body, it was obviously nothing close to the other barmaids. The other girls had wide hips, tiny waists, and large chests. Elizabeth might have had slight curves hiding somewhere, but her chest was hardly anything to boast about. She was not without—not with her buxom mother's genes kicking and fighting in her blood stream—but she was not gifted. She was not beautiful. She was merely pretty without a single feature to be captured in. No man would spend endless hours staring as they did the other girls. If they did, they would leave the Cow and Corset very unsatisfied.


	3. Chapter 3

RAAAPE. RAAAAPE. Yes. By the by, I know Elizabeth's a wimp. She's meant to be like that. She's a sensitive wimp, not the type of characters I make, but she's Butcher's type. Bah. TOMFOOLERY.

I bet you're wondering why the title is Sweet Sacrifice. The truth is... I don't know. I was listening to the song by Evanescence at the time. I'm not sure if the title will have any significance in the story or not, but it seems deep. I'm sorry for not providing you with a thoroughly complex answer. I couldn't think of a title.

Disclaimer. Woo.

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Over time, the mid-day population of the tavern circulated into the evening crowd, the more respectable business men filling in the tables to drink a pint and take a load off after a hard day's work. Elizabeth enjoyed this time better. The air was a more pleasant smell than the stinky alcoholics and bums, but no matter the crowd, there were always the few guests who drank a few too many pints. Elizabeth did her best to be careful and stay away from between the close-knit tables, but even the outskirts could not protect her from all the perverted men of Bowerstone. She was innocently preparing to clear away empty pints from a full table on the far side of the tavern, far from Mr. Balding's view, but the occupants of the table had other ideas. Suddenly, she felt a thick arm curl around her waist tightly, lower than she would have liked. She gasped and her eyes widened, trying to pull back.

"E-Excuse m-me, s-sir…" She stuttered, trying to gently push off his hand.

"Oh, c'mon, love," The large dock worker smirked and laughed to his friends, rising to his feet. He towered over her, his breath reeking of whiskey. "Was'a young'in like you doin' workin' here? A girly like 'at mus' like the naughty businesses, hmm? How 'bout you le'mme give 'ya a go?" He hummed, giving her a yellow grin.

"M-My boss d-doesn't take kindly to th-this type of…t-tomfoolery," Elizabeth insisted, keeping her blushing face as far from him as possible. She stayed still, knowing that if she fought back, she would take the blame. He was a respectable man, while she was a little tavern girl. The law would take his side.

"Oh, d-doesn't h-h-h-he?" The man laughed, mocking her stutter. He suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, yanking him off roughly. "Ay, was'a big idea, bastard?" He shouted, the grin falling off his face as he saw the girl's defender.

"She's right," Mr. Balding grunted angrily, grabbing the man by his shirt, "I don't take kindly to tomfoolery with my barmaids. I suggest you find your ladies of the night elsewhere, y'hear?" The proud man dragged the drunk to the door, still lecturing him even after his voice carried beyond Elizabeth's ears. She sighed in relief and glanced up, seeing the dark Butcher on the edge of his seat, appearing as though he was about to rise. His stone jaw was clenched in anger, his brows knitted. Kane was on his feet and his hackles were raised, his teeth bore in an obvious threatening growl. She blinked and stared, forgetting her fear momentarily. His emerald eyes followed Mr. Balding as the hooligans were booted out, his tense stance slowly relaxing back into his seat.

Was he about to save her if Mr. Balding hadn't swung to her rescue?

Mr. Balding soon returned with his normal jolly expression, curling his plump hand around Elizabeth's elbow.

"You alright, my dear?" He asked with wide, concerned eyes.

Elizabeth nodded quickly, knowing her words would only stumble more than usual. Mr. Balding grinned and patted her cheek with a grandfatherly touch. "Go on, then, lass," He nodded, moving out of her way. "More ladies have arrived and winter is coming on quick. I don't want a girl like you out on the streets alone any later than this. Trouble seems to seek you out."

The brunette giggled a bit, understanding his point. "G-Good night, sir," She curtsied and scurried to the bar to gather her effects. She rushed to the door and wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, pulling the long hood over her head. Elizabeth cast one last glance over her shoulder at the joyous scene, a light smile to her face. Before she left, she spotted Butcher in the corner of her eye, seeming to fumble in his coin purse for the correct pay for his drinks.

She stepped outside into the even more brittle night air, the chill gripping her lungs. She pulled the cloak tighter around her and she started on her way, her boots tapping lightly on the cobblestone streets. Her cloak was old and worn, but thick. It was obviously lower class, so it worked as a slight shield from any thieves who would be prowling about for a foolish rich girl. The streets of Bowerstone were not safe for ladies, but she had no choice. She had no escort and no carriage. She would walk home from work. Elizabeth never complained, as usual. Complaining was not in her system. More than anything, she hated being a burden on anyone, even her parents, who seemed to be burdened by the simple task of having to breathe.

The safe sound of conversation from the tavern faded away as she left the main, wide streets of the town square, weaving through the thin back streets. The ridiculously high price of housing lowered in these neighborhoods, so the amount of prowlers was high. Elizabeth kept her head down and her step quick, but her home was a long walk from the center of town. Most nights, she had no problems with walking alone. Every so often she would attract a dark man to follow her, but she reached home soon enough.

The night was silent in the dark streets, most of the houses having gone to sleep hours ago. People tended to retire for the night when the sun set, for the poorer houses had few candles to like their dark homes. She turned down a street and reached the river Bower. Elizabeth enjoyed walking the riverside most nights, as the light clap of waves hitting each other and the stone edges calmed her. The fresh scent of distant fishing docks and clean water filled her nose, making her at ease. Her large eyes slipped closed as she strolled, hands clutching her cloak against her stomach. Her steps slowed as she relaxed, feeling a cool breeze brush her warm cheeks, lifting stray strands of hair off her face.

Elizabeth's line of ancestors had all lived in Bowerstone, even when it was divided into North and South. The Kingsley's blood history was not very impressive, as it mostly consisted of scoundrels, bar maids, and maybe a blacksmith or two, but the trail of offspring was plentiful. Even on her mother's side, the families were large and obnoxious. Even though such population could drive anyone mad, Elizabeth learned how to love her many brothers and sisters, particularly her older brother and younger sister, mostly because of the age similarity. Will was seven years older, but always had time for quiet little Elizabeth, and Caroline, a single year younger. Caroline was everything Elizabeth was not. She had their father's sandy yellow hair with mother's pale skin, handsomely dusted with light freckles. Her waist was thin and her chest swollen, but her bones held a beautiful delicacy about them. Her smile was a white as a sheet, easily slaying any man who would come near. However, she had a sharp tongue about her and a quick temper, so she had little patience for most men and all the younger siblings. Because of this, she clung to Elizabeth and Will's mature company.

As children, the three would escape under the bridge to listen to Will tell the stories of ancient heroes. Elizabeth's doe eyes would grow wide at the tales, her young mind fascinated by the mystical tales of the Old Kingdom, but Caroline, on the other hand, huffed a pouty lip and crossed her arms, saying how it was not fair how the heroes treated normal people. If a hero came her way and expected special treatment, she would give her a piece of her very opinionated mind. She was like mother that way—when they were angry, all life kept its distance.

Elizabeth was more of the dreamer than her brother or sister. She would lie on the green hills of Bower Lake when they used to take picnics there and look about the landscape, trying to envision the fields as the Heroes Guild it once was. She was in wonder at how the nasty Wraithmarsh was once the quaint little village of Oakvale. How Twinblade's camp and Bargate Prison evolved into the dirty Bloodstone and Westcliff. The power of heroes amazed but frightened her. Her fears were pushed more when Butcher became known, the man terrifying her.

The brunette shivered as her thoughts drifted to the horrifying hero and her eyes opened slowly. They said he killed Lucien, the evil dictator who had cost many innocent men their lives in the construction of the Tattered Spire. They said he was a hero, but an awful one. He assisted slavers and assassins, stole carelessly from shops, raised all taxes and rents to a preposterous sum, killed innocents when he felt the need, slaughtered all of Oakfield, and was a loyal member of the Temple of Shadows. He found amusement in setting of a disastrous spell in the middle of town, setting fire to boxes of stock and terrifying anyone who came too close. He was a monster, her mother said, and anyone with sense would stay far from him. Elizabeth sighed, hanging her head. How could such a sweet boy grow to be a dark man?

A cold shiver rose up her spine as a heavy footstep broke her thoughts. Her chocolate eyes opened wide, her heart skipping a beat. She paused in her path and glanced over her shoulder, spotting a dark being in the shadows. Elizabeth set on her way again, her steps moving faster, panic sinking in. When she heard a familiarly menacing bark, her stomach flipped in blind fear and her legs broke out into a full run. A huge hand suddenly grabbed her elbow and held her back, causing her to cry out.

"P-Please, d-don't kill me, p-please!" She sputtered, frightened tears rolling down her face. Her thin frame struggled against the larger one, flailing and doing all she could to get away.

The stalker slowly opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced by the cocking of a rifle. Elizabeth squinted through her tears to see Will with a blunderbuss pointed at her captor, his hands obviously shaking.

"Leave her be," He demanded, his fine face set in a deep scowl. Silent tension sunk through the air like a heavy quilt, the only sound being Elizabeth's sniffles and Kane's deep growls. The second the harsh grip relented from her elbow, Will yanked her out of Butcher's space, holding her away. "Now, get, you, get before I call the guards on you."

Elizabeth looked up at the dark man, his expression unreadable. It seemed emotionless, but his bright eyes glowed of something near melancholia. He slowly backed away, but his eyes bore into the girl so hard she was forced to look away. What did he want with her?


	4. Chapter 4

This is all for tonight, my little plague rats. I need to get to writing the fourth chapter. I don't care if no one even likes this story, I like it.

HE SPEAKS! Woo. I love how animals and pets are the common starter for chit-chat. You're afraid to talk to him? That's okay, talk to his dog.

Disclaimer. What have you.

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"Better watch yerself, chicken," Clara whispered over the counter the next day around mid afternoon, looking past Elizabeth's shoulder. She looked up from the counting book, blinking. Ever since Mr. Balding's eyesight had started to fail, Elizabeth had counted their earnings. Though she never attended school, Will would teach her all that he learned when he returned home and Elizabeth found she enjoyed sums. Numbers were simple. Numbers were never afraid and numbers never needed to be brave. All numbers had to do was be added and subtracted with each other and Elizabeth found a calm presence about them.

"Hm…?" Elizabeth hummed, peering over her wide reading glasses.

"I'sat Butcher, again," She leaned in, eyebrows raised so high that her forehead wrinkles. "No one's 'ere but Roland, the gambler, and 'at ol' sod. Don't you fink 'at's a little weird?" She nodded subtly to the far corner where Butcher sat, his piercing eyes glaring under his Highwayman hat. Elizabeth did not need to turn to picture the expression, a shiver rolling down her spine.

"I-I've no idea…" She murmured, grabbing her book to sit at the closest empty table. She glanced out over the bar, seeing only the three men occupying the place. It was to be expected. At least once every week, the new shipments would come to the docks and every man was scurrying about to accommodate them, leaving the pub empty. Roland the bar sat near the bookshelves, humming off-key notes as he wrote down his 'latest composition' about the dark hero. The gambler tried to appear busy with polishing each game piece and setting them in exactly the correct order. Butcher, however, sat in the corner, silent as the grave, with a bored looking Kane lying at his heels. A half-filled tankard of ale sat on the table with his large, gloved hand curled around it. He was slouching and his bright eyes glared harshly under his cap, unmoving from Elizabeth's position. She made the mistake of looking at him, feeling his eyes pierce daggers through her. Clara sat in the chair across from her, leaning in again.

"Did you do somefin' to tick 'im off, er somefin'?" She hissed, eyes darting between the young barmaid and the murderer.

"Well… W-Will aimed a g-gun at him l-last night for t-touching me, b-but…"

"'E touched you!" Clara all but screeched, arousing the drowsy gambler's short attention. Elizabeth hushed her friend until his eyes drifted back to his dice, his fat fingers slowly making circular rotations with a rag on them.

"I don't know w-what he wants," She shook her head, attempting to concentrate on the digits before her. She sighed and closed her eyes. Why had he suddenly taken an interest in her? Usually if he was going to kill someone, he would swing out his gun on impulse, always shooting the neck so the head flew off. He was swift and quick, the person's fear and paranoia being more painful than the actual death. Elizabeth shivered and ducked her head further into her book.

As the day continued, Butcher never once moved from his spot in the far corner of the tavern. The only thing that changed was that he brought out a sheet of paper at some point and scribbled quickly on it, glancing up randomly. Despite herself, Elizabeth found her eyes drifting to the silent murderer more and more throughout the day. Finally, the end of her shift arrived and she quickly left the well-lit tavern to set out once more to the dark streets of Bowerstone. This time, she walked along the main, direct path to her house, despite her love of taking the scenic route. She hoped for a peaceful and quiet stroll, but, of course, Lady Luck was not on her side. Not ten minutes into her walk, she heard the same heavy footsteps and light pants of a dog. The steps got closer and closer until her nerves could take no more.

She spun on her heel, her entire body rigid. "W-Why are you f-following me?" She exclaimed louder than she thought possible and bit her lip, furrowing her brow. Butcher blinked emotionlessly and pursed his lips, exchanging looks with Kane. "W-What…?"

Butcher shook his head and stepped closer again.

"P-Please, th-that's quite close enough…" She whispered, backing up. To her surprise, he stopped in his tracks, head bowed slightly. Elizabeth's hands shook so she held the edges of her cloak to hide them, glancing away. "You… don't say much… d-do you?" She asked softly, stealing a peek at him. He simply shook his head, resting a securing hand on Kane's head. Kane barked up at him and waltzed closer to Elizabeth, neck craning to examine her. She whimpered and tried to back away, but felt her back colliding with stone. This dog aided his master in fights by tearing the remaining life out of enemies who were knocked to the ground. He could break her spine in seconds. Instead, he pressed his snout against her hip, as if asking for attention.

"U-Um…" Elizabeth glanced up at Butcher who was watching with slight amusement in his eyes, nodding at her. She shrunk into her hood and lowered one gloved hand to awkwardly pat the dog's head. "N-Nice… K-Kane… P-Please don't b-bite me…" Kane pulled his head back to tilt it at her, as if raising an eyebrow, and huffed, as if laughing.

"You're kind to him," A deep voice whispered and Elizabeth looked up to see the owner of the voice. "He doesn't bite those who are kind to him." Kane blinked and barked lightly, weaving his strong body against her legs, tail wagging.

"He has r-red eyes…" She reasoned, knocked against the stone behind her by the dog's force.

"His appearance reflects off mine," Butcher explained and knelt onto his knees to be eye-to-eye with Kane, running an affectionate hand along his dark fur. "If I weren't so corrupt, I would have red eyes, too…" For a moment, Butcher simply looked at the dog, as if having a wordless conversation. Before long, he rose and started walking down a street closer to the river. Kane stayed behind, looking up at Elizabeth. He barked and galloped after his master, turning his big head to watch the girl occasionally.

Run, her mind screamed, but her body could not obey. Her foot moved forward of its own accord, followed by the second, until she was walking following the dark man. Her mind could not figure the reason for this, but was content with screaming at her body as it moved as it liked. Maybe it was because the mystery of Butcher fascinated her. Throughout the many years he had existed around Bowerstone, she never once heard of him speaking. Some said he had no voice, that he only had a roar. They said because he was an orphan and lived on the streets as a child, he did not know how to talk. Those who knew him in his youth said he would only talk to his sister, Rose, but she disappeared as mysteriously as he did. They seemed to fall off the face of the Earth the night before Lucien left Fairfax Castle. No one knew why. No one cared.

Soon, Kane's wagging tail fell out of Elizabeth's view and she ran to try to find it again, stopping as she met the street along the river. Her hood fell off her head, dropping limply against her back.

"Over here," The strange voice called and the girl turned, spotting Butcher sitting on the far end of a bench, looking out over the wide river. Elizabeth took baby steps closer, glancing around anxiously. "There's no one around here. No one will penalize you for being with the Oakfield Slaughterer." Venom dripped from his last sentence and it appeared that his fist clenched tight around his knee. Elizabeth shrunk back, but continued to slowly walk closer. Her heart thumped violently in her chest with each step she took until she sat at the far end of the long bench, looking to the side. What on Earth was she doing? She was sitting with the treacherous hero who killed hundreds of innocents and refused to bring back those who died in the making of the Spire to save no one but his own dog. As if reading her thoughts, Kane looked up from his paws, an ear rising suspiciously.

"You're nervous," He said, breaking the chilling silence between them.

"Y-Yes," She replied, unable to look at him.

"Afraid?" She nodded.

"Hateful?"

Elizabeth paused and glanced at the dark hero who remained gazing into space.

"Mm…" She hummed, scratching her nails against her cloak. "No."

"No?" He raised an eyebrow and looked back at her, causing her to immediately turn away. "Why?"

Elizabeth had never hated another human being in her life. A lot of negative energy was needed to hate someone, energy she simply did not posses. She preferred not to be near many people, but she did not hate them. Despite all the terrible things Butcher had done throughout his life, Elizabeth had grown up with him and sat by in awe as he defeated the evil of Lord Lucien. He murdered innocents, yes, but he did save Albion from such villains as Thag and Lucien. He started at the bottom and worked to the top, becoming the richest man in all of Albion. He was hated and feared by all. He was wealthy, he was powerful, but he was completely alone with no one but Kane to accompany him. Elizabeth could not bring herself to hate such a pitiful character.

However, she kept the answer to herself. Though he had been kind thus far, he could behead her at any moment. The thought snapped sense back into her body and she tensed. "I should g-go."

"Wait," Butcher said immediately, straightening up. His hand extended to her, ready to grab her if she tried to leave. Elizabeth inched back, the metal arm rest of the bench cutting into her side. The man visibly cursed himself and pulled his hand back. The girl rose and backed far from him, ignoring Kane's whimpers. The air was tense, as if he was thinking of what to say, but she turned, starting off toward the main road again.

"Don't fear me," The voice muttered softly. Elizabeth stopped and glanced over her shoulder, puzzled. He was standing, staring deeply into her.

"W-Wha…"

"Don't fear me," He repeated, his tone grave, as if he was afraid to be feared. He stepped closer, the muscles in his arms and neck tensing menacingly under the dark, cracked skin. Elizabeth jumped back, heart skipping.

"I c-can't…" She shook her head and rushed off, afraid of the fiery look in the piercing green eyes. They held an emotion of which Elizabeth was unfamiliar. A look of dark desperation. An animalistic need for something that Elizabeth was afraid to give him.


	5. Chapter 5

Okay, this is kind of a transition chapter, so it's not too long and there's not much action. My fear was repeating words and scenarios too much… Hope I did all right. I hope I portrayed her freaking out situation well, too. XD

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As a child, Elizabeth was prone to nightmares. Whenever she woke with a cry from her night terrors, Caroline would whine and call her chicken. The three eldest children shared a room at the time, so when the middle child woke screaming, all three were yanked abruptly awake. The lovely Caroline would make a bigger fuss than Elizabeth about how she was too old at thirteen years to be so afraid of nightmares. Will, however, permitted the sniffling girl, cheeks reddened with embarrassment, to spend the rest of the night in his bed. Will always understood and knew what to say to hush Elizabeth's fears. Of course, the dreams were never unusual. They were simply common childish dreams, such as a scenario of drowning or being lost in the large and confusing marketplace. Even still, young Elizabeth was rather familiar with the emotion of panic and acted upon it quite often. Despite Will's pubescent age and growing cockiness that came along with manhood, he calmly soothed his favorite sister. As she matured, her nightmares dulled and eventually disappeared until she slept peacefully each night, even after Will was married off to the beautiful Angela Balding and moved to the other side of Bowerstone. He took over the blacksmith shop that he had apprenticed at as a boy after the owner retired and the last time Elizabeth had seen her sister-in-law, the small family was working on their first child. Life had steadied out over the years and Elizabeth became more sure of her surroundings, positive they would not fall out from under her.

So, when she woke at a later hour than usual, she was puzzled, thinking herself in another of her nightmares. Usually she never had to wake herself—the screaming of her siblings and parents were a good enough alarm to tell her to get ready for work. However, for once, Elizabeth woke at her own leisure and the sun said she was oh, so very late. Why had her boisterous family not waken her? The frantic girl rushed to ready herself and flew down the stairs, but froze in her tracks at the last stair. Her doe eyes widened and her mouth dropped, looking about the usually noisy first floor.

Her mother and father, along with the two youngest populated the room. The two children sat at the table in a whining position, their fists raised to pound on the worn table. Her father appeared to have just entered the house, his eyes red with the obvious signs of overnight drinking. Her mother stood by the staircase, her face in an expression of an angry scream, her lips trapped around what seemed to be a shout to call the lazy Elizabeth downstairs.

Each character was frozen in their tracks.

The frightened girl whimpered and backed herself against the stair wall, slowly inching away from her still mother.

"M-Mama?" She whispered and prodded at her leathery tan arm, but received no response. Her skin was warm and cushioned under her touch, as flesh did; giving evidence that she was not dead. Not bothering to pull her bonnet on, Elizabeth ran from the house, pressing her hands to the building across from the entrance. She bit her lip in an attempt to calm her racing heart and stared to the cobblestone street below her, focusing on the emerald blades of grass. Several ants sat atop their sandy home with crumbs on their backs, unmoving. She squeezed her eyes shut and straightened herself, her booted feet moving forward shakily to find Will. Will would shake her out of her nightmares.

Too afraid to worry about the midday chill, Elizabeth hurried to the middle class home Will had moved to on the other side of the square, assuring her mind that each frozen person and animal was simply a product of her wild imagination and a sudden visit from her childhood night terrors. The town was unnervingly silent. Not a bird chirped, not a bell rang, and not a ship unloaded its goods. The town crier stood in mid call, his arm raised to ring his bell and his hand curled around his mouth to be heard, though not a sound escaped. The dedicated jeweler had her back turned and was arched over her display, her thin fingers touching her merchandise delicately to make sure every shiny trinket was in order. Several drunks wobbled in front of the tavern, some leaning against the nearby bench to empty their stomach disgracefully into the sewers. Such soundless emotional unnerved poor Elizabeth and she had to whimper, only to assure herself that she had not fallen silent as well. She fell short of breath upon reaching the well-kept household, but pushed through the heavy door.

"Will!" She called and drew back, biting back tears. She had hoped the home would be the center of her peace, a haven, if you will, where her dream would end. Instead, the lovely Angela stood over their shining stove, holding the mixing spoon to her lips to sample the now burning stew she had been making. Elizabeth took sorrowful steps forward to silently turn off the stove before turning, heading out the door once more. She was alone and cold. She nodded respectfully to the frozen Angela and borrowed an abandoned cloak off the coat rack and wrapped herself in its wool warmth, walking despondently to the Bowerstone Bridge. What was she to do but wait for the night terror to run its course? She leaned on the stone edge of the bridge, looking down into the flowing water. Perhaps by the time everything unfroze, the stilled fish in the river would get caught up in the filter at the end of the river. The comical idea of the multitude of flopping fish brought a tiny smile to her lips. Any fisherman lucky enough to catch the strange conundrum would make a fortune. She sighed and rested her chin on her arms, listening to the powerful Bower rush beneath her, unaffected by the frozen dilemma. The river was always strong and true. If you followed the river, she would lead you home.

A low growl suddenly pulled Elizabeth out of her reverie with a jump, using the stone edge to stabilize herself.

"K-Kane…?" She whispered, spotting the large dark dog in front of her. He walked closer and sniffed her skirt, his defensive growl turning into a deep, playful bark. Kane rubbed his hard body again her legs, knocking her back slightly before he started to trod off again. The brunette walked her go in confusion. Why was Kane there? More importantly, why was he not frozen? Were her dreams trying to tell her something? In desperation of finding answers, Elizabeth chased after the quickly receding dog.

"Kane, wait!" She called and stepped into the Cow and Corset. As the other places, the normally cheery tavern was frozen. Mr. Balding was behind the counter, his pudgy hand shoved in a pint to clean it with his rag. The gambler leaned toward his two customers to gather their bets. Clara and another girl were busy bringing tankards of ale to their few morning customers. All were frozen but the bustling Kane who weaved between the tables, knocking aside chairs as he did so. Elizabeth's chocolate eyes followed him until her gaze reached a black, mud-trodden boot. She nibbled at her lip and slowly gazed up the man she somehow knew would not be still.

Unfortunately, Elizabeth was very correct, and the second her eyes met his putrid emeralds, the stationary world around her faded into darkness. The last image her gaze met was Kane's curious snout leaning in to sniff her fallen body.


End file.
